Rest Without Relaxation
by LornaCat
Summary: Tony wants to help his friends relax, but there is one form of tension that no spa, sauna or massage can cure. Post-movie Clintasha romance. The other (earthly) Avengers play an important part too. UPDATE: I will be changing the rating due to a steamier chapter 2.
1. Rest Without Relaxation

**Summary: **There is a form of tension that no spa, sauna or massage can cure. Tony tries to help his friends in any way he can. Post-movie **Clintasha** fluff. The other (earthly) Avengers play an important part too.

**Rated T** for mild sexy themes and language

* * *

**Rest Without Relaxation**

* * *

An entire week of rest - it felt like an eternity of waiting. During that time they were unable to do penance for the crimes of which they'd accused themselves. There was too much time to think about the terrible things they'd done. Was this forced relaxation in reality a form of punishment?

Tony looked around the sauna at his four companions, his new brothers - and one sister - in arms. They were spread out on the tiered wooden benches, all with thin white towels hanging limply around their waists, except for Natasha, who had hers wrapped tightly around her chest. Hardly the time for modesty, Tony thought. Not that he was really looking. They were sweating it all out, all the stress from the past week. At least, that's what they were supposed to be doing.

Clint was perched up in the corner as usual, though for once his eyes were unfocused, staring at the opposite wall while he leaned back against the close one. His lack of focus was intentional, the result of a mostly naked Natasha sitting a few feet in front of him on the lowest level of benches. Tony refused to believe he was imagining those furtive glances. Natasha, if she noticed the furtive glances at all, didn't let the others know. She sat with her back to Clint, her ankles crossed, hands resting on the bench beside each leg. She leaned forward, swinging her feet, staring down at the floor with evidence of deep thought etched on her face. Bruce was slouched near the door, always prepared for a hasty exit. He was, relative to the recent past, more relaxed these days, but he still had a long way to go by Tony's standards. Then there was Steve, stern and serious. If he was going to sweat it out, he was going to do it seriously, dagnabbit.

"You still look tense." Tony said to all of them, disappointed, as if they'd ruined his birthday party. They all reacted just as he'd predicted they would - Bruce admitted it with a sheepish smile, Steve was disappointed he was doing yet another thing wrong, and Natasha raised an eyebrow as she met his gaze.

"Do you guys ever relax?" Tony asked the room. "Do you even know _how_?"

Clint felt the furrow in his brow deepen. Of course that reaction only proved Tony right. With his shoulders and the back of his head resting against the wall, Clint closed his eyes, foolishly hoping it would block out the conversation as well as the sight. He'd been the first one in and he suspected he'd be the first one out if this kept up.

"There's always something going on, somewhere." Steve sighed idly. "It's hard to let it go."

"A tensed muscle needs rest or it only gets weaker." Tony lectured.

"You're prone to laryngitis, then?" Steve cracked.

"A hero's gotta eat." Tony went on unperturbed. "He's gotta sleep. He's gotta have a little sex, right? He's got to have a _lot _of sex..."

"See," Bruce piped up from the opposite corner as Tony made a show of biting his lip and getting that far off look in his eye. "Now you're just rubbing it in. You've got a fiancée, we've got-"

"Opportunities." Tony interrupted, before Bruce could say something silly like 'nothing'. "This is a very attractive bunch. Now, I may be spoken for, but Steve, you're a walking Ken doll. And, Bruce? With the absent-minded professor thing you've got going on, you could have a lecture hall full of undergrads at your feet. And you're both perfect gentlemen, evidenced by the fact that you haven't ogled any of Romanoff's lady bits even once the whole time we've been here."

Steve opened his mouth as if to protest, but he knew Tony was just trying to ruffle their feathers, Hawkeye's in particular. Steve shook his head softly, letting the protest fizzle out and become a chuckle. Tony looked directly at Clint to see his reaction to the last comment. When Clint opened one eye, brow furrowed even further, he caught Tony's little smirk and instantly regretted visibly reacting to Tony's latest bait. He closed his open eye and concentrated even harder on tuning Tony out. Natasha, meanwhile, cast her eyes down and smirked only to herself. She didn't mind if they ogled, and she didn't mind if they didn't. Their sweet gallantry made up for Tony's obvious, though ultimately harmless, mental undressing.

"I'm just one of the boys." she reminded Tony wryly.

"In a fight? Yes." Tony agreed. "In a sauna, draped in a damp towel? No. Thank goodness, no." He glanced down at her body and cleared his throat, and then looked around at the other boys. "Should I pour some water on the rocks? Anyone about to have a wardrobe malfunction?"

"I think you need to call your fiancée." Bruce joked.

"She won't pick up. She's in DC again, just...being one of the boys." Tony widened his eyes playfully at Natasha, pleased that she could appreciate his antics. Steve only humored him when he was in the mood for it. Bruce of course needed the patience of all mankind, but Clint...

Tony glanced quickly at the hawk and then back to Natasha before deciding to go. "Well." he said as he stood abruptly. "It's time for my deep tissue massage. I strongly urge all of you to get one. All the girls here are fantastic. The men, too. If you're into that. We don't judge here." He patted Steve on the shoulder as he passed.

"Why is that always directed at me?" Steve asked Bruce.

"Because you always react." Bruce informed him.

"Come on," Tony said to Steve. "I've got the perfect girl lined up for you. She's German, she'll resolve all your lingering issues."

"She'll-!" Steve started and stopped, looking again to Bruce to see if this joker was for real. Bruce couldn't help but chuckle, and he had to look away from Steve's serious expression because it was making him feel bad to laugh about it. Bruce stood as Tony approached. He hadn't missed Tony's subtle gesture, the one he made with his eyebrows. Tony thought Clint and Natasha should be alone, and he needed Bruce's help to get Steve out of there.

"A massage sounds nice." Bruce said, and since Steve found him to be a reasonable human being, his mind was changed.

"Just the massage." Steve said worriedly as he stood. He wouldn't put it past Tony Stark to plan something unseemly on his behalf.

"Captain!" Tony looked over his shoulder, acting scandalized. Steve's arms rose from his sides, always questioning why he had to endure this teasing. Bruce did what he could to comfort him, but it was up to Steve not to be bothered.

Natasha watched them all go. Clint waited for the ruckus to fade away. The lack of human voices was blissful.

"Finally, some peace and quiet." Clint murmured. He could feel Natasha smile even before she turned to look up at him over her shoulder. The silence created by Ironman's absence was sweet, but the tension only grew thicker without the distraction.

"I almost forgot what it was like," said Natasha. "Not having his voice in my ear."

"Like waking up from a nightmare." Clint said, so serious it elicited a chuckle from her. She turned to face forward and bowed her head, and it made her soft red curls bounce just so. Clint kept his eyes on her, and he observed as she glanced down at herself. She checked the tightness of the towel wrapping, and opened it just enough so she could tuck it back in again. Clint looked away, as if there were some danger in observing any more of her skin than was already visible. It shouldn't matter, he told himself. Coworkers, comrades, friends. The line had to be drawn there.

This was getting to be a problem. It was frustrating that his eyes forced themselves away from her every time he started having those thoughts. Even more frustrating were the words of Tony Stark, returning as an echo in his mind. '_Wardrobe malfunction...'_ Unlike Tony, whose impulse control was weaker than their Hulk even on a good day, Clint was an expert in poker faces and hiding his emotions. So was Natasha. There was no way to know what she was really feeling unless you asked, and only if she trusted you completely. What better way to lose that trust than to admit what he was really thinking when she adjusted that little towel?

Most frustrating of all, Clint finally had her all to himself, and it was making him so anxious he had to get out of there. Exactly when it had gotten so bad, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed to fix it before the next intergalactic crisis.

"Thirsty." he said as he stood, as a way of explaining. A tall glass of ice-cold water would help. He hoped. Maybe an intergalactic crisis would be better after all. "You want anything?" he asked, holding on to the towel around his waist for extra measure as he took the few giant steps to the floor.

"No, thank you." Natasha murmured. He heard the melancholy in her tone, and he felt guilty for abandoning her so soon after the other boys cleared out. Not guilty enough to stay. He was almost gone when he heard her voice again.

"Clint?"

Without thinking, Clint turned to her with an inquisitive look. It was always automatic and immediate, the attention they paid each other. One called the other's name, and they were there for each other, no matter what.

"Do you ever ogle?" she asked, her face completely straight. The real Natasha was straight forward, but still never gave away anything in her eyes.

Clint hesitated.

"Ogle?" he repeated.

"What Stark said before-"

"No, I know." Clint interrupted her gently. He was just stalling for time. Most of his mental strength was focused on keeping his eye line above her neck. This was the kind of question for which there was no right answer, only two wrong ones.

_Yes, I ogle.  
- __You're just like the rest. Is that all I am to you?_

_No, never!  
- Y__ou don't find me attractive?_

_If this is a trap, I've already been caught._ Clint thought. But it was just them. Just Clint and Natasha. And maybe it wasn't a trick. Real Natasha was straight forward, level-headed. Feelings were just tools she used against the enemy during missions, right?

He hoped not. He hoped she at least felt a fraction of what he felt because the words he was about to utter would not leave much room for interpretation.

With one last goodbye to good sense and reason, Clint took a breath and said exactly what he was thinking.

"I'd lick the sweat off your skin." he said, still looking directly into her eyes. "Every inch."

There. He'd said it. Now everything between them could be unbearably awkward, Natasha would end up hating him and he'd eventually have to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and live the rest of his life in a remote cave to avoid the shame and humiliation of losing his best friend by admitting something so base and lurid.

To make it all worse, Natasha didn't respond. She sat there with an unreadable expression, probably shock. He didn't blame her. He didn't know what she'd been expecting to hear.

Clint shook his head a little, as if to clear it. He looked down at the floor, and tried to think of a way to fix what he'd just done.

"Sorry." he said quietly. He turned to leave the room, and he didn't plan on returning. Maybe instead of ice water he could find a bar and get a stiff drink. The door of the sauna faced a free-standing wall, around which Clint had to walk to get to the cushy anteroom with cushioned benches and lockers for visitors' sandals. _Do not pass go, do not collect $200, just get the hell out of here, you idiot._

Natasha was definitely in shock. She'd frozen, not because he'd said anything wrong, but because his answer had been so spectacularly right. She didn't even realize what was happening as Clint turned to leave. It took her a few more seconds to realize that her impassive face had given him the wrong impression.

"Clint, wait." she said, projecting her voice so he might hear her outside the sound-dampening walls of the sauna. He didn't come back, so she stood up and hurried out of the room.

He thought he heard something, but he didn't turn to look until he heard her soft voice calling his name in the anteroom.

Her hand touched the wall as she rounded it. He'd almost made it out, through the door that led to the hallway and to the rest of the spa. His back was to her and he stopped at the sound of her voice calling his name.

"Clint." she said.

At first, he wouldn't look at her. He didn't want to make it any worse. But she'd called his name, and unspoken rules were still rules. She was standing there in her little towel, on legs that could take down any opponent with a single jump and twist. He'd seen her in action but she looked vulnerable here, holding the towel up with her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He hoped it wasn't what he'd said that made her feel unsure. He waited for her to say something, to make the next move. He felt guilty, but he also felt some resentment. Nat started this, and if she was upset or angry with him, it was her fault for crossing the line.

Natasha opened her mouth to speak. Before she could get a word out, her attention was captured by someone else entering the room. Her gaze shifted, and as a reflex Clint spun around to see who was behind him.

A very sheepish Dr. Banner was standing there, and he could tell he interrupted something. The tension in the room was not the sort that could be relieved by anything the spa had to offer.

"I'm...sorry," Bruce said haltingly. "I left my stuff in here, I just need to grab it."

Clint nodded politely, feeling oddly relieved by the interruption. He'd sneak out behind Bruce, so Natasha wouldn't get a chance to give him any bad news.

_Hello, my name is Clinton Barton, I faced an entire Chitauri army and I'm afraid of being rejected by a girl._

Nat, meanwhile, averted her eyes, and she gave Bruce a tight-lipped smile when he glanced at her and they made eye contact. He fumbled to get his belongings from one of the wall cabinets and merely nodded a goodbye before making a quick exit.

"Clint," Natasha said, before he could get away. Bruce was gone and they were alone again. "Please don't go."

"Why don't we just pretend you never asked." Clint suggested.

"No,"

"That way, I never answered,"

"Clint-"

"...and nothing changed."

"I _liked _what you said." Natasha blurted, when she could finally get a word in. "I _want_ you to ogle."

Clint's eyebrows rose. His one hand was still at his waist, holding the towel in place. It suddenly felt like it was made of plastic, his whole body felt completely unnatural. Did...she want him to ogle her right _now_?

This was Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, ultimate seductress. Why was she having so much trouble expressing her desires to Clint? She respected him. She had real feelings for him. It made her feel shy because she needed this to be real, and real meant she needed to be extra careful not to mess things up.

"If you meant what you said," she continued. "If you really want to..."

"Well," Clint smirked sheepishly. "I'd kiss you first."

That made Natasha smile. "Please do."

Clint smiled too. Now that he had permission to ogle, he allowed his eyes to wander below the neckline. Even her collarbone was lovely. She saw him looking, and dropped her arms to her sides. The towel stayed up on its own, a miracle but only by certain abstract standards. Still, the towel didn't hide much. Clint reached up and scratched the back of his head with his free hand, taking a few slow steps toward Natasha. His towel was going to have to hide a lot more if this went much further.

She waited patiently for his arrival, anticipation growing when he got close enough to reach out and touch. He cupped her face tenderly with his hand, and she pressed her cheek closer, nuzzling his palm. Her eyes slipped closed, and her lips parted when she felt his thumb stroke the lower, fuller of the two. Her lips were so full, and so soft. He'd often wondered what it would feel like to kiss them, to kiss the Black Widow, to see if he'd even survive such a thing. So close, she did not seem deadly to him at all. She was vulnerable, and wanting, She'd opened up to him, told him things she could never admit to anyone else. He felt he had a duty to protect that trust. Maybe to her, he was the deadly one. He'd tried to kill her not so long ago, and even if he'd been possessed at the time, the fact that she was standing before him, trusting him, nuzzling his hand - it meant a lot.

Of course, she'd won that fight. She'd kicked his ass. And that was really hot.

His hand slipped lower, his thumb dragging along her bottom lip. Natasha felt Clint's hand move, to the nape of her neck. He pulled her gently toward him, and she welcomed his lips on her own.

Just when it was getting good, they were interrupted once again. This time they had more warning, the sound of two familiar, bickering voices drifting in from the hallway. When Natasha realized who and where it was coming from, she pulled away from Clint and they both tried to look completely natural as they readjusted their towels.

"...she was just _flirting_ with you, Rogers. These are the opportunities I was trying to tell you about-"

Steve and Tony came into the room, apparently expecting their fellow Avengers to still be in the sauna. Tony became aware of their presence, and processed the scene in a few seconds. He saw Clint, his back to the returning visitors, leaning against the cabinets like he was just chillin', no big deal. He also saw Natasha, her cheeks flushed, arms crossed defensively over her chest, eyebrows raised with casual expectancy, waiting for Tony to ask her something important because, clearly, the only reason he should be back so soon is for something super important that could not, under any circumstances, wait until later.

Tony's mouth came open with a tiny jaw drop.

_Well, well, well! _

"We...are so sorry." Tony said in a matter-of-fact tone. He looked more giddy than remorseful when he said it. His little plan had worked, and as with everything else the Avengers did he was going to take way too much credit for whatever happened next.

"We're sorry?" Steve asked. He looked around at everyone, wondering what he was missing.

"Yes!" Tony informed him. "We were told to empty out our lockers, so we will do that and then leave immediately."

Steve furrowed his brow at Tony. The tricky billionaire had suggested they look in on Clint and Nat, to 'make sure they were okay.' Clearly he'd been trying to spy on them. Steve vowed in that moment never to trust Tony again unless they were fighting an interdimensional conquerer or caught in a similar emergency situation.

Clint looked over his shoulder and smiled in a not-so-nice way at Tony. _Yes, you will get the fuck out._ the smile said.

All that Tony could find was a wristwatch that he'd left on one of the benches. He stared hard at Natasha, willing her to crack a smile.

"My watch." he said, holding it up as proof. "It was a gift. From Pepper. Couldn't lose it, pain of death..."

Now he had both Clint and Natasha staring at him, staring coldly. Staring daggers, in fact.

"Alright then!" Tony looked at the Captain. "Steve, got all your stuff?"

"I didn't leave anything here." Steve answered him in a dry tone.

"That makes this leaving thing even more convenient then, doesn't it? Well, we will be in the massage area. Getting those massages. Finally. You two..." Tony pointed at Natasha, then at Clint, back and forth a few times. "Keep having fun."

Steve smiled apologetically on the way out. They could hear his hushed voice recede in the hallway, saying "Could you at least give me a warning, next time you want to 'check up' on our friends?"

The two that remained shared a chuckle. At least they weren't his only victims.

"Probably not the best place for this." said Clint, muttering into the door of the locker he leaned against.

"Probably not." Nat agreed.

"Too much traffic." Clint sighed.

"Come over to my place tonight?"

"Okay." Clint agreed immediately as he looked up at her.

"Or..." Natasha glanced around the room, knowing they were both done with the spa and its facade of relaxation. "Now?" she suggested.

Clint nodded dumbly. "Okay." he repeated.

"I'm going to get changed." said Natasha.

"That's a good idea. Because my level of self-control is reduced every second I see you without any clothes on."

The last thing he saw before Natasha opened up a separate locker so she could change behind its door was a big smile spreading across her face. He grinned to himself, opened his locker and threw the towel in. He was pulling up a pair of black boxer briefs when he told Natasha, "You can ogle me too, you know."

Natasha peeked around the door that hid her form. She'd missed the full monty, but the view from behind of his bare, muscled back and his butt in tight underwear made her smile.

"I already do." she said. Surprised to hear her voice so close, he looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. She smirked, and disappeared again.

"Hey, no fair peeking." he said.

Despite it being no fair, Clint took it upon himself to peek around Natasha's door too. She was already way more dressed than him. She slipped a black turtleneck over her head, pulled it down over her torso and pulled her hair out of the collar.

"I'll see you there." she said as she slung a small duffel bag over her shoulder.

"Natasha." Clint said as she walked by. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him, so he could give her a proper kiss on the lips. She smiled a soft, grateful smile, but he also saw a teasing look in her eyes.

"I won't shower 'til you get there." she said. She took a few steps backward, slowly, since he was reluctant to let go of her hand. His gaze was intense, but her playful smirk was reflected in his eyes.

"You won't have to." he promised.

Her expression opened up, and she tilted her head in an affirmative nod. "Hm." she said, her mind suddenly filled with feverish thoughts. She took another step back and let his hand drop. She left, and he rushed to put the rest of his clothes onto his body. He didn't want to leave her waiting, even if all she'd be able to think about was Clint's promise.

Natasha walked past the room where the other guys were getting their deep tissue massages. Tony had his eye on the door, and he made a similar "Hmm." sound when he saw her go by, fully clothed, with her bag on her shoulder. That smile playing at her lips was intriguing. Half a minute passed, and then Tony saw Clint walk by. "Ahh." Tony said in understanding. Steve thought it was just a reaction to the massage, which truly did feel amazing. Without thinking - sometimes the words just bubbled up without needing to be thought, it was a gift, really - Tony craned his neck up further and shouted "You're welcome!" at the hallway.

"I'm right here, jeez." Steve muttered, keeping his face buried in the massage table.

A second later, Clint's head popped into view from the edge of the door. He looked at Tony, who flashed an overly friendly smile. Clint's mouth opened, and his eyes shifted as if he was thinking how to best thank Tony for all his hard work and dedication in the arena of Clint's personal life. Then Clint closed his mouth, shook his head and disappeared.

"That's alright." said Tony as he laid back down. "He'll thank me later. They both will. When I'm best man at the wedding."

"Okay, who are you talking to?" Steve asked, raising his head a minute too late.

"Steeeve." Bruce groaned face down from the third table. "Relaaaax."

Steve turned to his masseuse, a lovely young girl named Dörthe. "What you're doing feels very nice." he assured her.

* * *

A month later, they were called together as a team for the first time since the Tesseract crisis. Clint had to land the quinjet that was transporting him along with Natasha and Bruce about a mile from the Arctic outpost, and they all suited up for the short but freezing cold trek. They met Steve and Tony inside the research center.

The heating system was working fine, and the first thing they did was peel off their thermal parkas. Clint and Natasha watched each other strip down to their normal clothes, catching each other's eye playfully. There wasn't much skin to ogle in the Arctic, but their warm clothes were form fitting, and the ogling was an inside joke to them at that point. It was all fun and games until Clint looked over at their comrades and caught them all looking at Natasha's back side. His smile disappeared. Bruce was the first to notice Clint's cold hard stare, and he cleared his throat to warn the others. Steve swallowed and pretended nothing had happened at all.

"Right." Tony murmured. "Off limits."

Natasha walked to the front of the room and stood at ease with her hands clasped behind her back, ready to relay Fury's instructions. She was the only one with the full mission plan, so technically she was in charge.

"Gentlemen?" she addressed them. "Are we ready to save the world?"


	2. Finally Home

_**A/N: **__Thanks for the follows! The little epilogue at the end of Ch. 1 was written before I planned a second chapter. This is what happens after Clint and Natasha leave the spa and meet at her apartment._

* * *

**Finally Home**

* * *

He felt like he did before a job, before a mission. There was excitement. There was anxiety. His vision was narrowing. He could do this. He just had to concentrate.

Then there was more anxiety. Hitting a target was completely different from pleasing a woman.

And 'pleasing a woman' barely covered what Clint wanted and needed to do, in order to feel that he'd done right by Natasha. It helped to know she wanted it just as much as he did. He'd seen the look in her eyes.

_"I won't shower 'til you get there."  
"You won't have to."_

On the elevator, heading up to the floor where Natasha kept her permanent residence, Clint leaned against the back wall and smiled at the very recent memory. At least he could say she started it.

They'd both come a long way. Waiting, watching, transforming themselves into people that could look in the mirror at the end of the day and know that they'd done some good. Fury insisted that they were heroes, but Clint and Natasha remained unconvinced. They were simply trying their hardest. That wasn't always enough.

The elevator pinged softly, and Clint looked up at the digital display. He'd reached the top floor. End of the line. Hopefully it was the beginning of a new one.

Inside her apartment, Natasha tied the belt on a thick black robe and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was clean of make-up and her hair was tucked behind her ears, at least as many of her curls that would stay put. After years of costumes and make-believe, Natasha didn't find any of her fake personas sexy at all. It was easy to get dolled up and cause the average man to have a heart attack at the mere sight of her. The difficult, nigh impossible thing was to trust someone so deeply that she could bare her soul to them. Clint knew her for who she really was. He knew all her tricks and dirty secrets, and he still wanted her. She hoped she could live up to the expectation he had of her.

A knock at the door told her it was time. On bare feet she padded over the soft, dark carpet to answer. She opened the door and caught a glimpse of Clint's look of anticipation, right before his face was transformed by a smile. She'd always thought he was cute. He was even cuter when he showed how happy he was just to see her.

It was the first time in weeks she was seeing him with full sleeves covering up those incredible arms. The zipped up hoodie was sexy but she preferred a more...naked version of Clint.

"Hey." Natasha greeted him simply. It was her usual straight forward greeting, but something in her eyes made Clint smile. She was doing that thing she did, when her face wanted to smile but her mind supressed it. The fact that Nat could in any way be shy really amused him - especially since she was being shy around _him_.

"Hey." he replied. She could tell he was making fun of her, and it only made her smile more.

"Come in." she said, moving aside.

Clint took a few steps inside, making a quick visual sweep of her place. It was spacious, sparsely furnished and decorated in a modern style. There wasn't much personal stuff lying around. They didn't spend a lot of time living on their own. 'Home' had always been a relative concept, the word itself often followed by 'base'. Their whole lives revolved around their work, but now they finally had a chance to spend some free time, and to spend it together.

After a quick look around, Clint turned back to Natasha. She'd closed the door and she was watching him from a few steps away.

"I thought you weren't going to shower 'til I got here." he teased, gesturing toward her fluffy robe.

"I didn't." she said. The little smirk that wanted to be a smile kept tugging at her lips. "Not yet."

"Not yet." Clint echoed softly.

The robe was slightly too large on her, and her hands played with the ends of the sleeves.

"I wanted you to take a shower with me." she said.

Clint inhaled deeply. He too had to stop himself from grinning like it was Christmas morning. "I'm ready when you are." he said.

"Come over here and kiss me first."

Clint's eyes and smile widened in mock surprise. _Your command is my wish, Little Miss Bossy. _

"Take two, right?" he said as he took a step forward.

"Three." Natasha reminded him, smiling as he got closer. The third time would be the charm, now that there was no one lurking around the corner, ready to interrupt in some sheepish or oblivious way.

She lifted herself up on her toes, not content to let Clint do all the work. Her parted lips made an easy target, and it only took a moment for Clint to slip his tongue into her mouth, for Natasha to wrap her arms around his neck, and for Clint to wrap his arms around her waist. He lifted her from the floor and held her tight as they made out. It was quiet in her apartment. It really felt like it was just them this time. The world was paused and they could take all the time they needed.

Clint put her back down, slowly, and she held him close while the kissing continued.

"This is nice," Clint murmured against her mouth between soft, hungry kisses. "Not being interrupted every five seconds..."

"There will be no more interruptions." Natasha promised him, her tone dark and playfully dangerous.

"Which way to the shower?" Clint asked. She responded by kissing him and pulling down the zipper on his hoodie. She pushed the jacket from his shoulders, and he helped get it the rest of the way off, keeping their mouths fused together while Natasha nudged him carefully in the right direction.

Clint stumbled backward into the bathroom, naked from the waist up. His hoodie and t-shirt had been discarded along the way, allowing Natasha to run her hands along his arms, unimpeded by any fabric. His arms were one of his best features, the one she always noticed right after his eyes and his smile. He held her face in his hands, and he paid such good attention to kissing her. Until he felt her hands reaching for the waist of his jeans. She unbuttoned and unzipped him with her eyes closed, enjoying the things Clint was doing with his tongue. She had his jeans pushed just past his waist when he stopped kissing her.

"I think getting naked is the only race I don't like to win." he quipped, smirking at the sexy, dreamy-eyed face Nat was making. He reached for the belt tied around her waist, tugging the rope out of a loose knot. Before it was open he lifted her onto the counter, next to the clean white porcelain sink. It was all so pristine. Natasha was really never home to enjoy it.

If Clint's best feature - in terms of awe-inspiring power - was his arms, Natasha's had to be her thighs. Clint could spend an entire day going over why each and every one of her body parts could be admired as a masterpiece of human design, but he was particularly interested in her legs. Seeing her ride a Chitauri warrior - using a pair of daggers as a harness - had set Clint's mind to theorizing what those thighs would feel like when used for some other, more pleasant activity.

The robe fell open as Clint placed Natasha gently on the counter. She still had on a bra and a pair of underwear, both in standard black.

"Cheater." Clint said, a perfect view of her body put off for another few items of clothing. Still, he let his eyes wander, and he let his hands stroke the sides of her legs.

Then Clint noticed a jagged scar on her inner thigh. Natasha watched his expression change, from one of hunger to slight confusion and then to worry. He stared at it for a moment, her secret scar.

"I usually cover it up with makeup," she explained. "If it's going to be seen."

_If I'm going to wear a short dress_, she didn't add.

She hadn't covered it up for Clint. If they were going to be together, she wanted him to see it all. The real her.

A week after the toughest fight of their lives, there were no other marks or bruises on her body. The scar was too old and too permanent to be from that fight.

"I thought you healed faster than normal...?" Clint murmured, curious rather than accusatory.

"I do." said Nat. "That one was just...too deep, I guess."

Clint put his forefinger and middle finger next to the close end of the scar. It ran up the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to an artery and, even worse, close to a place no knife should ever go near. He touched her tenderly, as if he was afraid it might still hurt.

Natasha waited to see what he would do, if he would continue to touch her or stop to ask about it. He seemed mentally frozen, thinking about other things, about the past. So Natasha decided to take action and bring him back to the present. She reached for the hand that was suddenly afraid to touch her, and she placed it flat on her inner thigh. Clint didn't need any other hints. He squeezed her flesh, rubbing her bare leg with the one hand while the other reached for the back of her neck, to pull her into a kiss. He stood between her legs, and she arched her back to move her body closer to his. Her arms felt trapped by her loose robe so she shed it the rest of the way. She pulled at his waist, pulling him closer, feeling with the inside of her thighs where his loose jeans sat on his hips. Clint wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her deeply, all thoughts of past injuries shoved aside. He wanted to hug her, hold her, kiss her and touch her. She was the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world, and he loved her.

His hand snaked up her back, releasing the clasp on her bra with dexterous fingers. She felt the sudden lack of pressure on her torso and she arched her back. She wanted to be closer. She wanted to feel him everywhere at once. His lips were on her neck, his hands sweeping slowly across her shoulder blades, pushing the straps from her shoulders. She tilted her head back, and he pressed his tongue against her pulse. They took the bra off together, and once it was gone Clint wrapped his arm low around her waist, pulling her against him even tighter and licking her all over neck and collar bone. Her skin was salty. He was glad she waited. His other hand was in her hair and she moaned when he squeezed a soft fist, pulling gently so he could have more access to her body. His tongue found the nipple on her right breast and he licked and sucked at it without inhibition.

Natasha squeezed a much tighter fist in his hair. Her body moved in uneven, unplanned waves, until the back of her head touched the mirror behind her. The sounds he was making had her in a trance. She couldn't remember ever wanting anyone like this, anyone at all, except for Clint. She trusted him completely.

"You still want a shower?" he asked, breath hot on her body, voice ragged and filled with sex.

"Forget the shower." Natasha breathed. Clint made a hungry sound and pulled her close. With her legs around his waist, Clint lifted Natasha from the bathroom counter and carried her straight to bed.

Clint climbed on top of her, savoring the taste of her lips and the feel of her legs on the sides of his waist. It didn't occur to him that she was being submissive, or that he should be prepared for the tables to suddenly turn. With barely a thrust of her hips, Natasha used her leverage to flip Clint onto his back. She pressed her hands into the bed on either side of his head, and stretched her body until it was pressed against him. Clint smiled and laid there with his hands on her hips.

"So this is how it's gonna be?" he asked. Clearly, he did not mind.

Natasha placed a soft kiss on his lips, and then another. "You'll get your turn." she murmured.

But he already had some catching up to do. She was as strong as him, but she was still very light for his incredible arms. He lifted her up at her hips, all but tossing her onto the bed beside him. She smiled at him when he began to roll over. He stopped on his side so he could shove his jeans down his legs. He caught her glance downward.

"You'll get your turn." he teased. Natasha moved further on to the bed, toward the middle, and with his jeans finally gone Clint crawled after her. He knelt in front of her and slid her underwear down her legs, receiving a smirk as he laid down on his stomach with his head between her legs. Her amused expressions did nothing to hide her excitement at the idea of Clint going down on her. He hugged her thighs to the sides of his face and searched deeply with his tongue. He wanted her to open up to him, in many ways..

Natasha arched her back, pushing her hips toward his face, and moaned softly. She liked the sound of him kissing her, she didn't want to disrupt it. The small sounds were enough to drive him crazy, but he'd work harder to get more.  
When Clint lifted his head and crawled the rest of the way up her body, he hovered over her and looked into her eyes, finding a drunken, lusty look there. Holding his gaze, Natasha reached down and pushed his boxer briefs down from his hips. The last article of clothing between them was tossed aside, and still they stared into each other's eyes. It felt like if he stared long enough he could get lost inside her mind, that she could end him, if she had any desire to do so. Clint felt her thighs on his waist again, and Natasha reaching down between their bodies, finding his hardness, guiding him into her. He filled her with one slow thrust and groaned with relief, even though her fingernails dug into his lower back. She moaned, overwhelmed in an amazing, temporary way. She arched her back again, the movement turning her head to the side and taking her eyes away from his just for a moment. With her body skewed, she turned her head back to look at him. His eyes penetrated her as much as any other part of him.

Natasha reached for him, lifting her body up to meet his and kiss him hard on the lips. He thrust into her again and tried to press her back down onto the bed, to devour her before she could do the same to him. She fought back; she couldn't get close enough, hug him tight enough, have him deep enough inside her. Natasha cried out as he filled her again and again, and Clint swallowed the sounds with his kisses. She pressed her thighs into his sides, hard enough to make him grunt with a mix of pleasure and pain.

"You're gonna kill me with those legs." he warned in a strained voice. Natasha's expression of anguished love and pleasure broke into a grin. It was such a rare and beautiful sight, Clint felt lucky to be able to see it so close. She relaxed her legs, which allowed Clint to thrust even deeper as he leaned in to kiss her lips. Her head fell back onto the bed, and her eyes were closed. It really did feel good to have him inside of her.

He could feel her arms around him, holding him. They were getting lost in it, and the sounds she made were involuntary, uncontrolled. It lulled him once again into a false sense of security. It was so intense, and in a flash, Clint found himself on his back with Natasha on top of him, barely able to figure out how it happened.

"My turn." she said. She leaned down to kiss him, and she moved her hips achingly slow. Clint pushed her red curls from her face and kissed back. He slowly sat up, so she was straddling his lap, and he thrust up into her, holding her tight so she wouldn't fly away. God, it felt good to have her so close, to look into her eyes and see her gazing back. Like their souls were touching.

When they weren't looking into each other's eyes, they were kissing, and when Clint wasn't kissing her lips he was kissing her neck, her collarbone and her breasts. He wanted to make up for everything that had happened, erase some of the pain with a lot of pleasure. He snuck his hand between them, between her legs, touching his thumb to her in a rhythm that matched the way they moved against each other. She ground her hips against him and squeezed her thighs together, as tight as before, and then tighter. The sound she made in her throat was worth it. It felt so good, without thinking, Clint reached up with his other hand and clenched a fist in her hair.

The feeling of restraining her caused an image to flash in his mind - Natasha with her head pulled back, a knife to her throat, struggling against the uncontrollable urge of a possessed man to end her life.

The image jolted him and, in the present, Clint forced that hand to relax. He straightened his fingers and took a breath. She could tell by the sudden lack of passion that he was distracted.

"It's okay." he heard Natasha say. She was breathless, undeterred by his action, her hips still rocking against him in a rhythm that bordered on desperate. He looked into her eyes. She gazed back at him. She wasn't afraid. Slowly, he raised his hand and let his fingers get tangled in the waves of red hair. He closed his fist, and she moaned. He felt the sound all through his own body. He squeezed harder, pulling on her hair. She sounds she made intensified, and she squeezed harder too, with her thighs, until Clint could barely catch his breath. She was coming, her head tilted back, her neck bared to him once again. He pulled her closer and licked her throat, sucking on her pulse, holding her tight until it was over. The muscles in her thighs finally relaxed, and he could breathe again. He laid back down on the bed, holding tight to her hips with strong hands. A part of him never wanted the moment to end, but he also couldn't wait, he needed to come _now._

Natasha listened to him moan, felt his fingers dig into her hips as she rode him. His head pressed back into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut, but then he had to open his eyes and look at her. He had to see her. He'd dreamed of this for a long time. The urge to fill her up completely overwhelmed him, and he quickly twisted their bodies so Natasha was almost on her back, one of her legs wrapped around his waist and held tight in his hand. He thrust his hips hard, and they both called out in time to his harsh thrusts as he reached his intense climax inside of her.

His motions slowed. One of Natasha's arms was slung over his shoulder, the other bent so she could touch his face. His hand stroked her leg, and he moaned, thrusting into her one last time. They kissed, and smiled, and they touched each other while they caught their breath.

Not exhausted, but finally completely relaxed, Clint untangled himself so he could lay on his back. Natasha curled up on her side and watched him. He stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling slowly now that his heart rate had slowed back down. He was thinking, contemplating hard, his eyes focused on thoughts she couldn't see. Everything that had happened in the past few weeks - almost losing their lives, losing each other, losing _everything_. Now they were finally together, the way they really wanted.

"What are you thinking?" Natasha asked.

Clint laid a forearm over his forehead, took a deep breath. How did he explain this, what he was feeling? It went beyond relief.

"It was a cold, dark hell," he said aloud. "Thinking I wasn't going to see you again."

Something in Natasha's heart shifted. She thought she'd been the only one panicking at the thought of losing him. Saving each other had been a non-negotiable stipulation of the war they'd been fighting.

After a long moment, Clint turned his head and looked at her.

"I love you." he said, matter-of-factly, in case she wasn't already convinced. The bare, honest emotion made it so Natasha had to look away from him.

"I know." she reassured him.

Clint smiled, and looked up at the ceiling. "Wow." he said, chuckling, in disbelief yet amused. "I just got Han Solo'd."

Natasha felt her cheeks grow hot, a blush that remained invisible, and she smiled. She looked into his eyes again. He was looking at her sideways, smirking.

"I love you too." she said quietly.

His expression softened. He knew how difficult it was for her to even admit she had feelings like that, let alone express them. She was relieved too. Relieved to still have him in her life, and relieved that she was able to share her feelings out loud. It meant a lot to him.

"Is that better?" she asked, with a subtle hint of sarcasm, as if she were asking a child. He smiled at her teasing.

"Much." he said. "Now come here..."

Clint rolled on to his side and put his arm over her waist, pulling her to him. Natasha scooched closer, accepting his embrace and melting into it. He wrapped his arms around her, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Her apartment provided a living space, but nothing had ever felt more like home than being in his arms.


End file.
